


Two for the Money

by this_is_how_we_get_ants



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Criminals, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Thieves, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2018-05-20 08:27:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5998810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/this_is_how_we_get_ants/pseuds/this_is_how_we_get_ants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers is one of the best in his business.  He and his crew have a good thing going.</p><p>And then Bucky Barnes walked in...</p><p>Steve might be in trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I just watched Focus for the first time, and it was meh, but it inspired me to write this AU. There will be more characters/tags added as the story progresses. Hope you enjoy, and I always love to hear from you guys!:)

      

          The door opened for him, the doorman smiling and nodding politely.  Steve smirked at him as he breezed past.  It was just some young kid, and he looked a little star-struck when he was actually acknowledged by one of the patrons of the building he worked for. He swept through the spartan lobby heading straight for the white cube of a front desk.  A woman, who looked as if she had hair and makeup artists hiding nearby to adjust every flyaway and oil spot, looked up and smiled blandly at him.

            Steve flashed a megawatt smile of his own and watched as she shifted ever so slightly in her seat, her posture straightening infinitesimally.  “Hello there,” he paused and pulled the aviator shades from his face making a show of reading her nametag.  “Karen.”  Another dazzling smile, this time with the added bonus of direct eye contact.

            “Good afternoon, Sir.  May I help you?” Karen reached up and patted unconsciously at her slicked back hair as she spoke.

            “Ah, I certainly hope so.”  Steve ran a hand down the back of his head with a wry twist of his lips for the receptionist’s benefit.  He smiled wider when she mimicked his smile with one of her own. 

            “Well, I will certainly do my best, Mr.-,” she trailed off politely asking for his name without actually asking.

            Pretending he hadn’t noticed the unspoken question, Steve ducked his head sheepishly. “It’s kind of embarrassing actually, Karen.”  She perked up almost imperceptibly at the use of her name.  “You see, I’m in town on business, I actually just started at Hodgeman & Roth,” he lowered his voice conspiratorially, and was rewarded by Karen’s eyes widening at the name drop.  “I’m supposed to pick up a client here, a Mr. Reyes, but uh, I seem to have misplaced his room information.  If I mess this up-,” he trailed off, letting his eyes drop to the sunglasses he was twirling in his hands.

            Karen’s eyes focused on the movement of Steve’s hands against the counter.  “Well, I’m not really supposed to give out information on our guests.  We cater to a clientele that appreciates privacy.”  She chewed nervously on her lower lip, causing a bit of pink lipstick to scrape off on her left front tooth. 

            Steve stopped fiddling with the glasses and bit his lip.  He took a deep breath and exhaled heavily before looking up to offer Karen a weak echo of his earlier smiles.  “OK, I understand.  I certainly wouldn’t want to get you into any trouble, Karen.”  He patted the counter in reaffirmation and lingered for a moment before slowly turning away.

            It only took two steps.  “Wait!” Karen called.  Steve was careful not to turn too quickly.  He cast a hopeful, but guarded expression in her direction before hesitantly stepping back up to the desk.  Karen looked back and forth before leaning in, “I really can’t give you Mr. Reyes’s room information, but I can tell you that he has a reservation at the grill for 8:30 tonight.”

            Steve’s face slowly broke into a wide, relieved smile.  “Thank you so much, Karen!  You are really saving my ass here!”  Karen blushed, fiddling with the nametag on her blouse. 

            “Well, I am here to help,” she smiled suggestively at Steve and he winked at her before putting his aviators back in place and striding out of the hotel with one last wave for Karen who giggled as she watched him go.

            As soon as he was situated in the backseat of a cab, Steve allowed the grin to take over his face.  He slid his phone out of the inner pocket of his jacket and typed out a text: _490, 8:45_.  A moment later the phone pinged with a one word response: _On_.  Steve smiled as he tucked the phone back inside the pocket of his suit jacket.  For the rest of the ride he strategized about how he would handle that night’s events.

. . .

            Steve sat in the leather club chair, sipping at the expensive bourbon he’d ordered.  He glanced at his watch: _9:26_.  God, it felt like he’d been sitting in this stupid restaurant for _days_ watching Reyes hit on all the pretty young things he laid his beady little eyes on.  True to form, Reyes seemed to have locked onto another target.  This time it was a young-ish looking guy with brown hair pulled up in a bun and glasses with thick black frames resting on his nose. 

            Reyes sidled up to the man and laid a hand between his shoulders.  Steve rolled his eyes and took another sip from his tumbler.  The man’s body language made it pretty obvious that he was not interested in Reyes.  What a surprise that a young, attractive guy would be turned off by an old dude with a sweat issue.  As he watched, Reyes’s hand crept constantly lower on Man Bun’s back.  When it briefly ducked down to Man Bun’s ass, the young guy shrugged away from Reyes.  He turned and looked with an expression similar to that of someone who’d just realized the room was on fire and they didn’t know where the exits were.  His eyes alighted on Steve briefly before he turned back to Reyes.

            To Steve’s surprise Man Bun made a beeline straight to his seat.  He seated himself in the vacant spot next to where Steve was sitting.  “Please, for the love of whatever deity you do or don’t believe in, pretend that you’re excited to see me,” Man Bun muttered under his breath.

            Steve found that he didn’t have to fake his answering smile as he took in the guy’s flustered blush and earnest gray eyes.  “I _am_ excited to see you,” Steve smirked.

            The guy shot a suspicious look at him and Steve was distracted by the realization that Man Bun’s eyes were actually a blue gray color.  “Ha-ha,” he deadpanned when he realized that Steve was messing with him.  “Seriously, that guy at the bar, the one with the toupee?” he waited for Steve to nod, “He has some hands, if you know what I mean.  And in case you don’t, I mean that he was feeling me up like I was on special at the deli.” 

            Steve burst out laughing.  He didn’t even have to fake it; there was something about Man Bun that he liked.  Man Bun made a face as he cast a glance over his shoulder at Reyes who had already moved on to his next victim.  When he turned back to Steve he extended his right hand.  “My name’s Bucky,” he announced, “Thanks for being a decent human being and saving me from Sir Gropes-a-lot.”

            With an easy grin, Steve shook the other man’s hand.  “Bucky, huh?”  The man shrugged.  “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Bucky.  I’m Steve.”

            Bucky looked at him carefully, evaluating, but seemed to accept Steve’s introduction.  He relaxed into his chair and breathed out a deep sigh.  Steve watched as Bucky drained his tumbler in one gulp and signaled to a passing waiter.  “God, I need about sixty of those to get the creepy crawlies off my skin,” he shuddered.

            A gentle buzzing against his torso alerted Steve to an incoming text.  _Goodnite_.  Steve fought the urge to roll his eyes; instead he looked regretfully at the phone before looking up at Bucky who raised a curious eyebrow at him.  Offering an apologetic half shrug, Steve tucked the phone away only to feel it start vibrating against his palm.  He glanced at the screen and sighed before answering, “Yes?”

            “Dude!  We have got it made in the shade, my brother!” the voice on the other end whooped loudly in Steve’s ear.  “Are you out of there yet?  It sounds like you’re still in a bar.  Don’t tell me you’ve already started celebrating, Rogers, you know that’s like bad fucking mojo!”

            Steve cleared his throat, wary of listening ears, “That’s great.  I’m probably going to call it a night soon.  We’ve got that early meeting in the morning and all.”

            “Oh, dude, is somebody there?  Shit!  It isn’t Reyes, is it?”

            “No,” Steve replied flatly.

            “Oh, OK.  Well that’s good.  You sure you don’t want to come out and celebrate with us?  C’mon, Barney’s and we’ll make Scott do Irish Car Bombs again.”

            Steve couldn’t help the chuckle, “Yeah, I don’t think so.”

            On the other end there was some muffled conversation.  “OK, whatever, Rogers.  Just leave me alone with these ass-clowns.”

            “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

            “Steve says do whatever the hell we want!” Steve had to pull the phone away from his ear.  “Bye, Rogers.  Don’t be too lame!” the voice trilled cheerfully.

            Steve shook his head and disconnected the call, tucking the phone back in his jacket pocket.  When he looked up, he caught Bucky’s eye.  A pink flush spread over Bucky’s cheeks and he ducked his head.  Something pulled at Steve’s gut as he watched Bucky look up at him from beneath his lashes.  Who said he wasn’t going to celebrate?

. . .

            “You just gonna stand there?”

            Steve flashed his teeth, circling slightly around the foot of the bed where Bucky was fidgeting.  He leaned forward and Bucky closed his eyes, but Steve just pulled back and chuckled.  Bucky’s eyes flew open, an indignant expression in his stormy eyes.  When he saw what Steve was holding in his hand, he gawped like a fish out of water.  They stared at each other, Steve waiting for Bucky to find his words.

            The door suddenly flew open and slammed against the wall.  A tall guy with dark hair and a nasty glint in his eyes blew into the room.  “What the fuck is this?”

            Steve waited for the angry man’s next move.  The man seemed completely stumped by the sight in front of him.  His anger slipped away slightly to make way for confusion to furrow his brow.  “What the fuck,” he repeated in an entirely different tone.  Bucky opened his mouth, looked at Steve and closed it again.

            He seemed to shrink under the intensity of his partner’s glower.  It was then that Steve noticed the gun dangling in the angry man’s hand.  “Damn, you two really sell it, huh?” he couldn’t stop the words from spilling out.

            The man instantly whirled on Steve, raising the gun threateningly.  Steve shot him an unimpressed look before tossing his wallet in the air and catching it.  He tucked it away and regarded the third player in the game.  “What is this?” the angry man once again turned to Bucky.

            “Put down the fucking gun, Brock.  He made us,” Bucky grumbled.

            “What the fuck did you do, Barnes?”

            “It wasn’t his fault.  You two are just running a real amateur operation here,” Steve said.

            “Who the fuck are you?”  It seemed the angry man had a rather limited vocabulary.

            “Someone who’s far better at this game than you, darling,” Steve smirked.

            A vein pulsed prominently in Brock’s temple as he ground his teeth.  “What the hell is this?”

            Steve shrugged, “What can I say; I’m always interested to meet fellow players.”

            “When did you know?” Bucky spoke quietly.

            Steve shot him a sympathetic look.  “When you lifted Reyes’s watch.”

            “Dammit,” Bucky mumbled.

            “If you knew so soon why’d you follow him up here, huh?  You some kind of rapist freak or some shit?” Brock accused.

            Steve gave Brock an unimpressed look.  “I am not a rapist freak, no.  I am however, a sucker for a hot brunet in a pair of sexy glasses.”  He winked at the room in general before pushing past Brock back out into the hotel hallway.

            When the elevator doors slid shut, he reached into his pocket and pulled out two wallets.  The black leather one with a completely unnecessary chain obviously belonged to Brock.  Sure enough, the ID inside showed a picture of the same man looking incredibly surly.  _Brock Rumlow_ was the name printed on the card.  What an asshole, Steve thought.  He opened up the other wallet and was greeted by Bucky wearing a charming half-smile. 

            “ _James Barnes,”_ he mouthed to himself as the elevator doors slid open once again.  Steve walked briskly through the quiet lobby, pulling his aviators on to shield his appearance.  He was feeling generous and when he saw the same kid from earlier manning the door he freed a twenty from Brock Rumlow’s wallet and tossed it at the kid.  When he reached the curb he tossed the wallet into a trash can as he hailed a cab.  The other wallet, he tucked carefully back into his pocket with a smile.


	2. Chapter 2

           Steve made sure to slam the apartment door on principle.  He was rewarded by a curse from the couch.  “Fuck me,” Sam muttered, throwing an arm over his face.

            “Can't handle your liquor anymore?  Get it together,” Steve teased, thumping his friend on the stomach. 

            Sam curled in on himself, groaning obnoxiously, “C’mon Rogers, cut a guy some slack.”

            Steve ducked into the kitchen returning with a water bottle that he set in front of Sam.  He then proceeded to empty the contents of his pockets onto the coffee table.  Sam drew himself out of his fetal ball of misery to investigate.  He watched as Steve grabbed the first wallet and pulled out the cash before tossing it aside.

            “Damn, Rogers.  Feeling a little grabby, were we?” Sam picked up the discarded wallet and poked through it idly.

            Steve shrugged, reaching for the next wallet.  All in all there were four wallets, two watches, and a pair of Gucci sunglasses.  He hadn’t picked like this in a while.  The crew didn’t really need to pickpocket anymore; they had bigger fish to fry these days.  But sometimes, Steve couldn’t help but feel nostalgic for their early days.  When he was in one of those moods he tended to swipe a few things here and there for old times’ sake.  Today he had restrained himself, though.  It would have been easy to grab twice the loot from the tipsy Saturday night crowd, but it just didn’t feel very sporting.  Besides, his heart hadn’t really been in it.

            Sam watched, seemingly transfixed, as Steve counted the bills from all the wallets together.  “So what happened to you, man?” he asked when Steve pocketed the cash.

            “What do you mean?” Steve replied absently as he toyed with the gold Rolex he’d taken from the douchebag with a shellacked comb-over.  He would take it to The Shop tomorrow along with the diamond encrusted Cartier number he’d slipped off the lady wearing a giant fluffy cheetah print coat and mascara halfway down her cheeks.  They’d probably add up to a fairly decent price if he threw in the sunglasses, too.  Mostly he just wanted to haggle with Sky; it had been a while, and he didn’t want to let himself get rusty.  Plus, he missed Sky.  Lately she’d been more online and less in-person on jobs.

            “I mean, why didn’t you come out with us?  Who were you with at the bar?” Sam wiggled his eyebrows and smirked.

            Steve rolled his eyes.  “No one.”

            “Mhmm.  So you just went out on the streets to pickpocket drunk idiots?”

            Steve ignored his friend.   “How’s Scott, by the way?  I hope you didn’t leave him to die of alcohol poisoning on the streets.”

            “Ha,” Sam huffed.  “He set a new record.  Well almost- it would have been a record if he hadn’t barfed up his victory.” He glanced at Steve before adding, “He’s fine.  Like I said he barfed it all up; there was nothing left to poison him.”

            “Wow, that’s reassuring.”

            “Shut up, Rogers,” Sam leaned back against the couch.  “We had a good night, though, man.”

            Steve couldn’t help the half-smile that curled his lips.  He had had a pretty good night, too, all things considered.  James Buchanan Barnes.  The name and the corresponding face kept running through his mind.  Sam had moved on to some story about Scott at the bar, but Steve was still stuck on gray-blue eyes and messy brown hair.  Steve had a feeling that he hadn’t seen the last of Bucky.  At least, he certainly hoped not.

            “Hey, yo Rogers!” Sam waved a hand in front of Steve’s face.  “You’re totally not even listening to me.”

            Steve fidgeted slightly, but plastered a cool grin on his face, “That’s never stopped you before.”

            “Hahaha!” Sam twisted his face before rolling his eyes and gulping from the water bottle.  “Seriously, where were you just now?  If I didn’t know better, I’d say you look like someone with a crush,” he teased.

            Steve fiddled with one of the wallets, running his finger along the tiny gold placard on its front.  “A _crush_?   Really?  What are we, twelve?”

            Sam didn’t bite.  “I knew it!  You met somebody at the bar last night, didn’t you?  Don’t bother answering because I already know you did,” Sam slapped Steve’s thigh triumphantly, and a bit more aggressively than necessary. 

            “You don’t know anything,” Steve muttered, fingers still tracing the cool metal on the wallet.

            “Bullshit!” Sam shouted.  “Stevie’s got a crush, Stevie’s got a crush.”

            “Fuck off, Wilson,” Steve flicked the wallet at Sam half-heartedly.

            Sam just laughed, his grin widening to something borderline maniacal.  “So what’s his name?  Did you get his number?”

            “I did not steal his social security number, Sam.  And I’m not telling you his name,” Steve shot him a look, “Remember that talk we had about stalking?”

            Sam ducked his head, “That was one time!  She never knew about it, so it doesn’t count!”

            “I stand corrected,” Steve said dryly. 

            Sam threw a cushion at Steve’s face. 

. . .

            “So, Sam tells me there’s a new man in the picture,” Scott leaned back in his seat while the others adjusted their outfits.

            Steve turned to Sam who was beaming innocently and scowled.  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

            “ _If it’s love_!” Sam broke into song.

            “Sam, we talked about this: no Train,” Steve admonished.

            “How about just no singing anything ever period?” Scott grumbled loud enough for everyone to hear.

            “I have a beautiful singing voice, thank you very much,” Sam adopted an affronted tone.

            “Of course you do, Sam,” Natasha patted his shoulder.  “Now, why don’t you put that uniform to good use and serve some canapes to the one-percenters in there?”

            Sam sniffed, adjusting his bow tie before slipping out of the van.  He paused to offer one final gesture to his compatriots before slamming the door shut.

            Steve sighed and turned to Natasha, “You ready, my darling?”

            Natasha smirked, reaching forward and fussing over Steve’s jacket.  She sat back with a satisfied smile.  “Of course, dear.”

            Steve reached for the door, hopping down onto the cement before reaching out to assist Natasha.  She gave him a look just in case he wasn’t fully aware that she needed no assistance from any man.  When they both stood on the sidewalk, she did a little shimmy in her dress before reaching up and hooking her hand in the crook of Steve’s arm.  The two of them headed for the back door.

            They stumbled in through a kitchen entrance, laughing and hanging on each other like honeymooners.  Staff buzzed around the industrial space, but mostly ignored Steve and Natasha.  Sam made a subtle gagging noise when they passed him, sniggering against each other’s necks. 

            They passed through another room filled with more members of the wait staff.  A few curious glances and small smiles were quickly averted as they made their way through the black-and-white clad workers.  Natasha winked at one young waiter, nearly causing him to drop his tray of bubbling champagne glasses.  Steve smiled at a gawky blonde who turned bright red and ducked her head.

            When they finally entered the main ballroom, they were immediately swallowed by the glamorous crowd and dropped the drunken act for something more inconspicuous.  The beads on Natasha’s gold dress caught the light, drawing many eyes.  Steve’s million-watt smile got a few appreciative looks, as well.  They swirled through the guests with grace, eyes peeled for their host.  Natasha nudged Steve’s ribs, subtly indicating the man-of-the-hour.  Steve squeezed her arm in acknowledgment and they effortlessly split up amongst the sea of people.

. . .

            Natasha laughed and lightly placed her hand against the man’s chest.  Right on cue, Sam brushed past and Natasha slipped her free hand into the pocket of his vest.  Sam disappeared into the crowd, circumspectly making his way to the corner where Steve was casually leaning against the wall.  Just as Sam reached Steve there was a commotion at the front of the room.  A flustered waiter was shrinking under the harsh words of their host.  Beside him, Natasha was patting at her dress in distress.  Steve held out his hand, accepting the key that Sam dropped into it before sneaking out of the room.

            He made his way upstairs when the guard was turned away, his attention drawn by his irate employer in the ballroom.  Unremarkable doors lined his path until he reached the third door on the left.  Steve fished the key out of his pocket and inserted it into the lock.  When the door swung open on silent hinges, he crept inside. 

            It was dark, but there was enough dim light coming through the windows to see what he needed to.  The walls of the room were lined with paintings.  Steve ached to stop and just admire the pieces, but he was on a schedule.  He quickly crossed the room, eyes fixed on one particular piece.  _Blue Cat_ hung in a small, but ornate frame on the wall opposite the door he had entered through.  Thankfully, it was a relatively small piece and Steve worked quickly to free it from the frame.

            Right on time the door to the room swept open.  “Excuse me, sir; you’re not supposed to be up here,” Sam stood in the doorway, wearing a conservative black suit identical to the other guards.           

            Steve rolled his eyes, tossing the key to Sam who lurched to the side almost dropping it. 

            “You got it?  Let’s get out of here, man.  Natasha says the mark smells like ground beef.” 

            Steve grimaced, “I’m right behind you.  I’ve just got to fix up the frame.”  He held the rolled up canvas out to Sam who accepted it with a slight frown.

            “You want some help?”

            “Why, did you bring someone who could help me?” Steve looked around before chuckling at the sour expression on Sam’s face.  “Seriously, I only need a couple seconds.  Go rescue Nat.”

            Sam hesitated before shrugging and leaving Steve alone in the room.  Steve waited a couple beats before turning his attention to the door tucked in the corner of the room.  He pulled out the burner phone in his jacket pocket and called the only contact.  It didn’t even ring once before a voice greeted him with a series of numbers, “5, 5, 3, 1, 9.”

            Steve flipped up the light switch plate beside the door revealing the keypad underneath.  He typed in the sequence of numbers and a light flashed green before the telltale clicking of a disengaging lock reached Steve’s ears.  Glancing around once more out of habit, Steve disappeared through the door.

. . .

            Steve tugged at his bow tie and loosened the first few buttons on his shirt.  He sighed heavily as he unlocked his apartment and practically fell inside.  It had been a long, albeit successful, night.  He smiled slightly at the memory of Natasha’s peeved face when they had reconvened in the van.  The sight of the pilfered canvas brightened her spirits, though.  Nothing made Natasha happier than ‘reclaiming’ misappropriated art. 

            Once again, Steve had declined the offer to go out and celebrate, this time feigning a headache.  He had slipped away to run an errand instead.  Shutting the door behind him, Steve froze.  A dark shape sat in the worn armchair he and Sam had inherited from Sam’s cousin. 

            “Sam?” Steve asked, even though he knew it wasn’t his roommate.  Sam had just snapped him a selfie of himself and Scott pretending to be Nat’s bodyguards.  Besides, Sam never sat in that chair.  He referred to it as the Serial Killer Seat, which Steve had made a conscious decision not to question.

            “Guess again,” a voice, definitely male, replied.

            Steve squinted against the darkness.  There was something oddly familiar about the voice; he knew he’d heard it before.  No matter how many names and faces he sorted through in his mind, it was no use.  His brain had had it and wouldn’t be providing him with any insights.

            “Did he send you? Because I already made the delivery.”  Steve crossed his arms defensively.

            The mysterious intruder was silent.  “No one sent me,” he finally said.  “I’m here because you have something of mine.”

            Steve sighed, “Well that really doesn’t narrow it down, buddy.  You’re going to have to be a little more specific.”

            There was a pause before the lamp on the table beside the Serial Killer Seat clicked on.  Steve blinked in surprise at the man sitting in his apartment.  He took in the bag of frozen peas pressed against the man’s cheek.  “What happened to you?”

              “My partner didn’t take too kindly to your little stunt the other night.”  Bucky lowered the peas to reveal a nasty bruise on his cheekbone.

            “That asshole with the gun did this?” Steve felt a flash of irrational anger swell in his chest.  “Brock Rumlow, was it?”  He went to Bucky’s side, sitting on the coffee table in front of him.

            A wry smile twisted Bucky’s lips.  “He was really attached to that wallet.”

            “Jesus,” Steve ran a hand through his hair. 

            Bucky shrugged, wincing slightly with the movement.  “You owe me, Steve Rogers.  I want in.”

            Steve stared at Bucky.  “ _In_?” he repeated.

            “In,” Bucky confirmed. 

            “It doesn’t work like that.  I’ve already got a crew, and we’re not accepting applications.”

            Bucky pursed his lips, and Steve felt a flush creeping over his ears.  “So that’s how you roll, then.  You skip in and ruin a guy’s life to get your kicks.”

            “You don’t know what you’re talking about, kid.”

            Bucky looked unimpressed.  “Really?  _Kid_?” he rolled his eyes.

            “Look-,” Steve began, but Bucky raised a hand silencing him.

            He stood up from the Serial Killer Seat and began lifting the hem of his gray sweater.  Steve gaped, “What the hell are you doing?”

            Bucky smirked, pulling the shirt up to just below his pecs.  Steve swallowed against his suddenly dry throat.  He fought not to look, but his tired brain was set on disobeying him and his eyes flitted to Bucky’s exposed torso.  Bruises covered most of his skin.  “I think he broke a couple of ribs, what do you think?” Bucky asked casually. 

            Steve growled under his breath.  He had never had any patience for bullies, and Brock Rumlow was clearly a grade-A bully.  “The couch is yours,” Steve said as he rose to his feet.  “Put those peas back in the freezer before you go to sleep.” 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the kudos and comments!

           “Yo, Rogers!”  Steve’s mattress dipped dangerously as Sam flopped on it.

            “What the hell?” Steve sputtered, blindly smacking at the area where he judged Sam to be located.

            “Good morning, sunshine!”

            “How are you not hungover?” Steve groaned, pulling his pillow around his ears.

            “I didn’t drink that much, which you would know if you weren’t such a party pooper!” Sam laughed.  “Also, there is a slight possibility that I haven’t been to bed yet.”

            Steve dropped the pillow and sat up.  “You’re still drunk.”

            “I can neither confirm nor deny that.”

            “Get off of my bed, and go away,” Steve grumbled.

            “No can do, buckaroo!” Sam trilled.

            “Oh my God, I hate you.”

            “Hey now, is that any way to speak to your number one best friend?” Sam lowered his voice, “Also, there’s a strange dude on the couch, and I’m scared.”

            Steve was wide awake at the reminder.  Bucky.  He had forgotten that Bucky was staying in their apartment.  He shoved Sam causing his friend to tumble off the bed with a trail of curses.  “He’s fine.”

            “Fine as in fine or fine as in _fine_?”

            Steve grabbed a T-shirt and pulled it over his head.  “Fine as in, you need to go to bed before I put you there permanently.”

            “I think I’m good here,” Sam slurred as he pulled Steve’s comforter off his bed and cocooned it around himself.

            Steve sighed, shaking his head as he left Sam in a pile on the floor.  When he stepped into the main room, Bucky wasn’t immediately apparent.  There was a noise from the tiny kitchen and Steve went around the corner, trying to look casual.  Bucky was standing with his back turned to Steve.  In one hand he was holding the coffee pot, and in the other he was holding some piece of the machine that Steve had never even seen before.

            “Breaking things already, Barnes?”

            Bucky startled slightly, and Steve hated himself when he saw the fearful look flash across Bucky’s face.  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

            Bucky chuckled nervously.  “No, you’re fine.  I just was trying to make coffee, but…” he trailed off gesturing helplessly in the direction of the coffee machine.

            Steve smiled and pushed off the wall.  “That thing’s a piece of shit.”  He took the pieces out of Bucky’s hands.  “We should really get a new one.”  Somehow, he managed to put everything back together and soon enough the machine was brewing noisily. 

            Bucky cleared his throat, awkwardly shoving his hands in his pockets.  There wasn’t really enough space for the two of them in the kitchen.  It wasn’t a kitchen built to hold more than one person.  Usually it wasn’t a problem.  Steve and Sam would just jostle each other around like it was a sport if they both happened to be in the space at the same time.  But now, Steve was acutely aware of how close he and Bucky were standing.  He leaned against the counter across from where Bucky was standing and looked at the floor, which turned into him staring at Bucky’s bare feet.

            “So, uh, did you sleep OK?” Steve tore his gaze away and looked straight into Bucky’s eyes, which wasn’t actually any better.

            Bucky nodded, a faint flush coloring his cheeks.  Or maybe Steve was just seeing things.  It was actually kind of hot in the apartment, wasn’t it?  Steve thought it was.  How had he not noticed it earlier?  He debated opening the doors to let in some fresh air from outside.

            “I’m awake!” A mountain of white bedding appeared at the edge of the kitchen.

            “Jesus!” Steve whirled.  Unfortunately, Bucky had moved at the same time and they whacked heads.  Pain exploded in Steve’s temple.  “Jesus!” he repeated.

            “My bad,” Sam winced, his face only just visible inside the cocoon he’d made out of Steve’s blankets.

            “Are you OK?” Steve turned to Bucky who was rubbing at his forehead.

            “Yeah,” he said sheepishly, glancing up at Steve before looking down again.

            The coffee maker snarled at them, alerting them it was finished.  “We should really get a new coffeemaker,” Steve muttered absently.

            There was a knock at the door and Steve sighed wearily.  He wasn’t prepared for this level of social interaction before his first cup of pitch black coffee.  Apparently no one cared. 

            “I’ll get it!” Sam announced.

            “You look like the Michelin man,” Natasha’s dry voice floated into the apartment.

            “And you look like a beautiful ballerina.”

            “Hey Nat,” Steve strolled around the corner.  He didn’t ask, but she still understood the question in his words.

            “Sam texted me,” Natasha said.

            “ _Mmmf_!” Sam’s muffled voice joined the conversation.

            “Did you slip something in his beer last night?” Natasha arched a brow at a point over Steve’s shoulder.

            He turned around to see Scott standing sleepy-eyed in a pair of Sam’s bird pajama pants that were comically long on him.

            “Where did you come from?” Steve startled.

            “Uh, the bathroom, dude.”  Scott gave him a ‘duh’ look and turned back to the conversation.

            “I don’t appreciate your insinuations,” he addressed Natasha with an air of mock-formality.  The effect was dampened by the slight slurring of his words.  And the bird pajamas. 

            “You’ve done it before,” Steve said.

            Scott threw up his hands in exasperation.  “One time!”

            “You literally suggest it for almost every single job,” Steve argued.

            “Yeah, well it works!”

            “I can attest to that,” Sam grumbled, “ _Very_ effective.”

            Steve caught Natasha looking past him and turned to see Bucky hovering there.  “I didn’t realize you boys were having a slumber party.”

            “Stranger!” Sam pointed eagerly at Bucky.

            Scott whacked Sam’s hand, “It’s rude to point, asshole.”

            Steve instinctively slipped into the confident tone he used to charm marks, “This is Bucky.”

            “Why does ‘ _Bucky_ ’,” Sam used unnecessary air quotes, “look like he got stuck in a small room with an angry sumo wrestler?”

            Scott shot Sam a look that read ‘what the fuck is up with you?’  Steve had been wondering the exact same thing.  True, Sam was naturally too energetic for his own good, but this was ridiculous.  The last time Sam had acted like this had involved an unexpected encounter with an angry poodle and a smashed container of what had turned out to _not_ be flour.

            “Steve?” Natasha prompted, pulling Steve out of the memory of finding Sam in a mark’s gourmet kitchen conducting an inventory of all the spoons he could find.

            “OH MY GOD!” Scott suddenly burst out, startling everyone except Natasha.  “It’s him!” Scott looked around at his crew with a gleeful smile on his face.  He shoved Sam, almost knocking him over, “It’s the guy!”

            Sam’s brow furrowed for a second before a maniacal laugh bubbled out of him.  “Dude, you’re right!”

            The two men- _grown ass adult men_ \- started snickering and nudging each other while occasionally looking over at Steve and Bucky.

            Steve immediately felt his face flushing.  Damn Scott and Sam!  They were the worst when they got together, and now he was going to pay for it.  He dreaded turning to see Bucky’s face at this point, but curiosity and all that.  A quick peek over his shoulder showed that Bucky was sporting a deer-in-headlights expression.  That was it; Steve had had enough.  It was too early, and he hadn’t had enough coffee for this shit. 

            Natasha cleared her throat and crossed her arms, obviously ready for some answers.

            “Uh-oh,” Sam whispered to Scott without actually whispering, “Mom and Dad are fighting.”

            Steve and Natasha both shot the once again giggling men dirty looks that didn’t quite manage to shut them up but made them at least attempt to be more subtle.

            “This is Bucky.  He’s going to be staying here for a while.  Also, he’s joining the crew,” Steve rushed through the last bit.

            “What?” Both of Natasha’s eyebrows were raised to dangerous heights, though her voice remained perfectly level.

            Steve hardened his expression as he looked at Natasha, but ultimately turned around to speak quietly with Bucky.  “Hey, why don’t you go take a shower while I talk to these guys?  The bathroom’s through there.”

            Bucky nodded, avoiding the others’ gazes as he grabbed his duffel bag where it lay by the couch and disappeared to the bathroom.  When the sound of water running could be heard, Steve turned back to his friends.  They were all looking at him with a range of expressions.  Natasha looked icy, Scott looked smug, and Sam looked like a kindergartner who really wanted to say something he knew he shouldn’t.

            Steve sighed, seeing that there was no way to avoid explaining things to his friends.  He proceeded to tell them about meeting Bucky.  If he chose to only share a vague outline of events, no one was the wiser.  When he was finished explaining how Bucky had shown up at the apartment the previous night he waited for his friends to respond.

            “Oh, Steve,” Natasha sighed.

            “How do we know we can trust this guy?” Scott questioned.

            “Does this mean I have to move out?” Sam asked.

            Steve sank into the Serial Killer Seat, dropping his head in his hands.  He ruffled his own hair as he tried to think of the perfect words to say to convince his crew that he’d made the right call.  Nothing was coming to him.  His usual charisma wasn’t going to come to his aid this time.  Besides, his friends deserved better than a verbal run-around.  They weren’t marks, after all.

            “I’m not asking you to trust him.  That’s something he has to earn.  All I’m asking is that you give him a chance,” Steve said recalling Bucky’s plea from the previous night.

            Scott gave a grudging nod, “I trust you, Steve.  If you think we should give him a chance, then I’ll give him a chance.  I mean you all have met Luis’s guys, right?”

            “Thank you,” Steve smiled tiredly.

            “Steve, you can’t bring home every stray dog that’s been kicked around a bit,” Natasha’s eyes were sad, but her voice was matter-of-fact.

            Steve bristled at her words, despite his best efforts not to.  “He’s not a dog, Nat,” he replied curtly.

            Natasha smiled sadly, but she nodded her head slowly.  She pressed her palms against her thighs before rising from the couch with a firmer nod.  “I guess time will have to be the judge,” she paused looking at Steve, “Just be careful.” 

            The three men watched as Natasha left the apartment without another word.  “I’m gonna go talk to her,” Scott jerked his head in the direction of the door.    

            Scott made a quick exit, not even attempting to find any shoes, and left Sam and Steve alone in the living room.  “Steve?” Sam spoke quietly.

            “Yeah, buddy?” Steve said.

            “I think you did the right thing, OK?”

            Steve met Sam’s worried eyes.  “Thanks, Sam.”

             “I’ve got your back, man.”  He rose from the couch, patting Steve’s shoulder.  He smiled once more before shuffling off to his bedroom and closing the door behind him. 

            Steve sat and stared absently out the windows.  That had gone better than it might have.  At least Scott and Sam were basically on-board.  Really he would have been more surprised if Natasha had accepted Bucky.  She would come around; it would just take some time. 

            “Hey,” Bucky appeared in the doorway, hair glistening with water.  He slid his glasses off his nose to rub the fogged up lenses before tentatively stepping into the main space. 

            “Hey,” Steve replied. 

            Bucky made his way over to sit down on the couch.  He looked smaller in the daylight, his shoulders curled slightly inward.  Steve watched as Bucky raised his hand, tracing it absently over the cut in his bottom lip. 

            “Are you sure you don’t want to go see a doctor?” Steve asked.

            Bucky stilled, lowering his hand to his lap.  “I’ll be fine.”

            Steve frowned, “But-,”

            Bucky cut him off, “I’m not going to a doctor, Steve.” 

            “OK, sure,” Steve leaned back in his seat.

            “What did they say?” Bucky asked after a stretch of silence between them.

            “Hmm?” Steve turned his attention back on Bucky before registering what he’d said.  “Yeah, you’re in.”

            “Really?”  Bucky looked unconvinced.  “Cuz, I mean, it didn’t really seem like that.”

             Steve sighed, “Natasha will come around, unless you give her a reason not to.”

            Bucky fidgeted uncomfortably on the couch, wincing as his body shifted.  Steve jumped up, suddenly anxious for something to do.  He crossed the room to the small hall that housed the doors to his room, the bathroom, and Sam’s room.  Opening the bathroom door, Steve popped open the medicine cabinet and rustled around for a bit before heading back to the couch where Bucky was sitting.

            “Lift up your shirt,” Steve instructed, setting the things he’d gathered down on the coffee table. 

            Bucky elected to just pull his shirt off.  Steve fought not to blush, which was a losing fight.  He busied himself unscrewing the cap on the salve he’d brought out.  “This stuff is amazing,” he said, loading a dollop of the cool blue onto his hand. 

            When he looked up Bucky was eyeing the container suspiciously.  He raised his eyes up to Steve’s and they both broke into laughter.  “ _Blue Emu_?  What the hell is that stuff?” Bucky squirmed uncomfortably at the pain the laughter caused in his ribs.

            “It’s a miracle,” Steve grinned.  “Now hold still.”  He gently lowered his hand against the worst of Bucky’s bruises.

            Bucky gasped, a slight shiver passing through his body.  “It’s cold!”

            Steve smiled, “Man up, Barnes.”  He applied the salve to Bucky’s body without speaking.  His thoughts were racing, and he could feel his ears burning. 

            When he was done, his eyes darted up to Bucky’s.  He froze when he found Bucky watching him.  Steve was close enough to see Bucky’s nostrils flaring slightly, his pupils expanding infinitesimally.  The air tasted thick and sweet when Steve breathed.  It was intoxicating; the combination of Bucky’s eyes, more gray than blue in this light, and the pull of his heat. 

            A whistle sounded, startling them both.  They quickly separated, amongst a lot of awkward throat clearing and fumbled gestures.  Steve stood up as if the chair was on fire and searched for his phone.  He found it on top of the refrigerator.  When he read the short message on the screen he felt his pulse pick up.

            “I’m sorry, I’ve gotta-,” Steve flailed his hand around vaguely as he stumbled into his room and grabbed the first pair of jeans he found on the floor.  He tugged the shirt he was wearing away from his body to inspect it.  Satisfied, he cast around for some shoes.

            “Is everything OK?” Bucky looked slightly bewildered from his spot on the couch.  Steve noticed he still hadn’t put his shirt back on. 

            “What?”  Steve was digging around in the Serial Killer Seat for his keys.  “Oh, yeah.  It’s fine.”  His hand caught on something distinctly metallic.  Triumphantly raising the keys from their prison he rushed to the door, “I’ll be back.  Don’t break anything.  Bye!”

            Steve barely felt the stairs beneath his feet as he hurried down them.  He passed by a startled Scott with some rushed explanation he didn’t even really hear himself give.  God, he was such a spaz.  His whole body felt jittery like that one time Sam had brewed a _special_ pot of coffee without telling him.  Bucky was probably regretting his decisions right about now, but there was nothing Steve could do about it at the moment.  He glanced down at the message on his phone once more before opening the door to the street.


	4. Chapter 4

      

“What are you doing here?” Steve pushed into The Shop, striding purposefully towards the counter where a man in a suit and glasses was standing across from Skye. 

            The man had the nerve to smile serenely at Steve.  It made his blood boil, but he knew there was nothing he could really do about it.  Skye caught his eye, her brown eyes wide and gave a slight shake of her head.  Steve relaxed slightly at that, allowing some of the anger to ebb away.  Maybe this wouldn’t have to get ugly this time.  He really wasn’t in the mood to come up with excuses to explain bloody knuckles to his friends.

            “Well, if it isn’t the golden boy,” the man sneered at Steve.  “Come to rescue your damsel in distress?”

            Steve growled low in his throat as he stepped right up to the man, not even a foot separating them.  “I asked you a question,” he said in a low voice.

            “Ah, yes.  I don’t think you’re really in any position to be asking _me_ questions.”

            Steve’s jaw clenched, causing the man to smile even wider.  He knew that Steve couldn’t do anything. 

            The man turned to the counter, glancing lecherously at Skye just for Steve’s benefit.  “I was just telling your pretty little assistant here about the next target,” he said.  “I’m sure she can bring you up to speed,” the man moved until he was able to speak right into Steve’s ear, “Watch yourself, Rogers.”

            Steve stood with his fists clenched as the man sauntered to the door and disappeared into a waiting sedan.  When the car pulled away into traffic, Steve finally turned to face Skye.  She was biting her lip, staring at the counter.  “Sorry, Stevie,” she said.

            “Hey, look at me,” Steve reached over the counter to tap Skye’s lowered chin lightly.  “It’s not your fault, OK?  We’ve been over this.”

            Skye searched his eyes, but didn’t say anything.  She turned away as soon as he retracted his hand.  “We both know that’s not true, Stevie.  It _is_ my fault, and you can’t keep doing this.”

            Steve sighed, “Skye, it’s not your fault.  If anybody’s to blame it’s me, so let it go.”

            Skye scoffed lightly, “You’re such a martyr,” she mumbled, extending an olive branch in the form of a tiny smirk.

            Steve grinned back at her, reaching over the counter to ruffle her hair, “And you’re a little shit,” he laughed.

            She batted his hand away half-heartedly.  “You want to see this or not?”

            Steve reluctantly pulled his hand back and pushed open the small divider that led to the area behind the counter.  He followed Skye into her office, which was really more of a glorified closet crammed so full of tech that it was practically a Best Buy.  Skye sat down in the one chair that the space held and popped the drive into a port.  Immediately, she started doing her crazy computer ninja thing, fingers flying over the keyboard faster than Steve could follow.  He waited patiently for her to loop him in.

            “Damn.”

            Steve leaned over her shoulder to see what she was looking at.  “He wants _that_?  Is he insane?”

            Skye typed some more, pulling up several articles and accompanying photos.  “Stevie, you can’t do this.  There’s no way!” Skye cast a worried look over her shoulder.

            Secretly, he agreed, but there was no point in saying that out loud.  He didn’t need to give Skye anything more to worry about; she already worried too much.  “We can do it,” he infused his words with a confidence he didn’t feel.

            “Don’t be an idiot,” Skye grumbled as her fingers danced across the keyboard. 

            “So what’s our cover?” Steve asked, choosing to ignore Skye’s pessimism. 

            “I’m looking,” Skye sighed.  A flurry of articles and images flashed up on the screen only to be replaced by others.  Finally, a bright blue logo caught Steve’s eyes.  Skye seemed to be reading this page more carefully.  “This could work,” she mumbled.

            “What is it?” Steve asked impatiently.

            Skye waved a hand at him until it landed on his face, effectively shutting him up until he stuck his tongue out and licked her hand.

            “Ew!” Skye scrunched up her face, wiping her palm vigorously on her jeans.  “You are disgusting!”

            Steve smiled deviously, “You’re not wrong.”

            Skye rolled her eyes, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth as she turned her attention back to the screens in front of her.  “This might be your ticket in.”

            Steve leaned in closer so that he could read the screen, “Nice work,” he said, patting Skye’s head.

            “I’m not a dog!” Skye squirmed away from Steve’s touch. 

            Steve laughed, “So we’ve got a potential in, but what about our cover?”

            Skye nodded absently, eyes scanning over the words in front of her, “Well there’s not exactly a shortage of valuable items worth stealing.  It’s just that most of it isn’t really _your_ kind of stuff.”

            “There has to be something,” Steve frowned.

            “Well obviously,” Skye rolled her eyes again.  Her expression quickly turned serious, “Maybe it’s time you tell the crew,” she said quietly.  “You’ll be lucky to get away with just this, let alone trying to find something else to take that will distract the others.  Stevie, I really don’t think you can do this one on your own.  It’s a way bigger target than anything he’s had you do before.  I mean, the security is beyond top-of-the-line and we only have a month to figure out a strategy.”  She bit her lip and looked up from the screen, flashing Steve big brown puppy dog eyes.

            “Oh, come on!  Not the puppy dog eyes,” Steve dragged a palm over his face.  “Dammit, Skye.”

            “I’m serious, Steve.  You’re not a superhuman.  There’s no way you’re doing this without the others’ help,” Skye rolled her chair back to face Steve head on.  “There are way too many variables for you to account for on your own.”

            Steve narrowed his eyes at the computer screens as if they held the answers he was looking for.  “You’re right, he sighed.  “But I can’t tell them the truth.  We have to come up with a story to tell them, one that they’ll believe.”

            A mischievous glint appeared in Skye’s eyes.  “Well, it’s a good thing that’s kind of our specialty then, isn’t it?”

_

            It was dark when Steve finally made his way back to the apartment.  He and Skye had spent a couple of hours ironing out a story.  When he realized how late it had gotten, he’d insisted Skye come over to the apartment.  She’d agreed on the condition that Steve bought Chinese.  So while he juggled several grease-stained paper bags, Skye skipped easily up the stairs and knocked once on the door before letting herself in.  Steve followed several steps behind, closing the door that Skye had left wide open.

            “Hey boys!”

            Scott and Sam looked up from where they were sitting on the couch, apparently engaged in a heated game of Mario Kart.  Steve could have sworn he’d hidden that stupid game.  He should have known those two would find it.  At least the place didn’t look like a warzone this time, and there didn’t seem to be any bloody noses.  Although, Bucky didn’t appear to be in the room, but hopefully that wasn’t due to bodily harm inflicted in a Mario Kart-fueled fury.

            “Hey-o!” Scott raised a hand in a wave.

            “Skye!” Sam exclaimed, “It’s been way too long, girl!”

            Skye grinned, “I come bearing Chinese, ya’ll!”

            Scott and Sam whooped, their game momentarily forgotten as they migrated towards the scent of food.

            “Technically you didn’t ‘bear’ anything,” Steve grumbled.

            “Semantics,” Skye snatched one of the bags out of Steve’s hand and headed for the coffee table. 

            “Where’s Bucky?” Steve asked as Skye busied herself clearing the various junk off of the coffee table so they could set out the food.

            “Oh, he’s in your room,” Sam replied.  “He looked really tired, so I told him he could take a nap in there,” he paused to glance up at Steve, “That’s OK, isn’t it?”

            “Yeah, that’s fine,” Steve nodded, handing off the rest of the bags to Sam and Scott who eagerly started pawing through the contents.  He rolled his eyes, “I’m just gonna go let him know there’s food.”

            Sam offered a thumbs-up over his shoulder as he retreated to the couch with Scott and Skye.  They immediately began jostling each other to get to their favorites first.  He could hear Skye arguing that ladies should be first, which Sam and Scott disputed vehemently.  Shaking his head, Steve pulled off his leather jacket and headed to the closed door of his room. 

            He wavered uncertainly for a moment in front of the door before giving a soft knock and slowly pushing it open.  Sure enough, Bucky was curled up on Steve’s bed fast asleep.  Unfortunately, Steve’s door had notoriously squeaky hinges which caused Bucky to startle awake.

            “Hey, sorry,” Steve shoved his hands in his pockets awkwardly, “Um, there’s Chinese if you’re hungry.”

            Bucky blinked blearily at Steve a few times before slowly seeming to come back online.  He reached up and gathered his messy hair into a ponytail before rising up to join Steve and the others.  “I hope it’s OK that I crashed in here.  Sam said you wouldn’t mind,” Bucky glanced nervously up at Steve as they walked back to the living space.

            “It’s totally cool,” Steve smiled reassuringly.  “I’m glad you could get some rest.”

            Bucky nodded as they passed into the living room where the others were eating and talking animatedly on the floor around the coffee table.  Skye had requisitioned a pillow off the couch to sit on, and Sam had elected to grab a couch cushion, while Scott just sat on the rug.  They all paused when Steve and Bucky emerged.  Scott nodded at them, Sam smiled around his mouthful, and Skye raised a curious eyebrow.

            “Uh, Skye, this is Bucky, Bucky this is Skye,” Steve gestured between the two of them.

            Skye bounced up off the floor and offered her hand to Bucky who shook it after a second’s hesitation.  “Hi!  Nice to meet you!”

            “Um, thanks,” Bucky mumbled, “You, too.”

            Skye nodded, grinning before she turned back to her pillow and plopped down.  Steve gestured for Bucky to go ahead.  The two of them sat with their backs to the TV.  Bucky seemed hesitant to take any food, but the others quickly loaded him up with their personal recommendations taking his hesitation as unfamiliarity with the food. 

            After a colorful discussion about who had won the earlier Mario Kart battle, there was a lull in the conversation.  Skye turned her attention to Bucky, “So, Bucky, what brings you to our little den of iniquity?” she waggled her eyebrows at him exaggeratedly.

            Bucky swallowed loudly, coughing and reaching for his water.  “Um, I-,” he hedged.

            “He’s a notorious murderer who Steve fell in love with and broke out of jail so that they could be together like Bonnie and Clyde,” Sam supplied.

            “That’s not right,” Scott piped up, “He’s a drug kingpin who Steve met at a bar.  Obviously, they became lovers.  When a rival operation put a target on Bucky’s back and a price on his head, Steve swooped in to rescue him right from the middle of a firefight.  Now he’s hiding out here until things cool down.”

            “Mmm-mmm!” Sam waved a hand excitedly, “He’s a boat captain who was stranded in the Bermuda triangle for three years fighting for his life against wild animals and living off of coconuts.  Steve was the first person he saw when he found his way to New York aboard a tiny boat he built with his bare hands using only the materials nature had to offer him.  It was love at first sight, and since he had no home, Steve took him in.”

            “No, no, no,” Scott shook his head.  “He’s actually a journalist who stumbled onto a conspiracy involving New York’s dairy farmers.  Steve saved his life when an angry mob of agriculturalists cornered him in an alley and brought him here to recover in safety.”

            “Oh my gosh!” Skye giggled, “Those farmers don’t mess around!” she grinned at Scott.

            Scott beamed proudly, obviously taking Skye’s comment as a sign of his victory.  He proceeded to stick his tongue out at Sam who returned the expression readily.  They quickly dissolved into making faces at each other like the man-children that they were.

             “Actually,” Steve spoke up, “He’s the newest member of our crew,” he glared at Scott, “And he is not my _lover_.”

            Scott shrugged unapologetically, “I’ve heard it both ways.”

            “You are the worst,” Steve flicked an egg roll at Scott’s head.  “That’s not even an original quote, you jackass.”

            “Oh, my bad, I thought we were in America, wait-,” Scott trailed off meaningfully.

            Skye giggled again, nudging Steve with her elbow, “I’ve missed this,” she declared.

            Steve smiled fondly, and caught Skye in a headlock.  She squealed in protest when he mussed up her hair.  He just grinned and planted an exaggerated kiss on the top of her head before releasing his hold on her.  Skye retaliated by punching Steve in the arm.

            Everyone’s attention turned to Sam when his phone started blaring “I Believe I Can Fly”.  He immediately started scrabbling around for it, finally producing it from under the couch with a triumphant noise.  Unfortunately, it had stopped ringing by the time he located it.  “Shit, I gotta call back,” Sam said as he stood up from the floor.

            “Yeah, I should be going, too,” Skye sighed, using Steve’s shoulder to push herself to her feet.

            “I can walk you home,” Scott offered.

            Skye placed her hand over her chest, “And they say chivalry is dead.”

            “Oh, it’s dead,” Bucky muttered under his breath.  Steve shot a surprised look at him feeling a grin take over his face at the caught look in Bucky’s eyes.

            “Don’t I get a hug goodbye?” Skye was standing a few feet from the door holding her arms out to Steve with a pout.

            Steve obliged, stepping forward and sweeping Skye into a tight hug.

            As she returned the embrace, Steve felt warm breath tickling his ear, “You didn’t tell me about Bucky.”

            “It’s not like that,” Steve whispered back.

            “Uh-huh,” Skye pulled back to look him in the eye.  “You forget how well I know you, and I know you can’t resist those glasses or that hair.”

            Steve felt himself blushing.  Skye just grinned before standing on her tip-toes to give him a kiss on the cheek.  He took the opportunity to catch Scott’s eye and run his pointer finger across his neck.  Scott gulped, his eyes darting down to his shoes. 

            “Well,” Skye held out her arm to link with Scott’s, “Shall we?”

            “Um, ye-yeah let’s go,” Scott stuttered.  His eyes shot up to Steve’s one last time and Steve raised an eyebrow meaningfully.  He quickly turned to Skye, holding the door open and scurrying out behind her.

            When Steve turned around, Bucky was watching him.  “What?”

            Bucky shook his head, “Skye seems nice,” he said observed.

            “She grows on you,” Steve agreed.

            Bucky nodded thoughtfully and began tidying up the mess they’d made, grabbing the couch cushion and pillows.  Steve watched him for a moment before heading into the kitchen.  He came back with a garbage bag which he shook out.  Seeming to understand, Bucky began scooping the empty containers and used paper plates into the bag that Steve held open for him.  They fell into an easy rhythm quickly cleaning up the space.

            “She’s my sister,” Steve said after they’d been quiet for several minutes.

            “What?” Bucky asked.

            “Skye,” Steve replied.

            Bucky paused, “Your sister?”

            Steve nodded, “I was sixteen; Skye was thirteen when we ended up in the same house.”

            “Foster care?”

            “Kind of.” 

            He was surprised when Bucky didn’t say anything else.  Most people would have taken the opportunity to probe into Steve’s past.  The fact that Bucky didn’t made him feel strangely unbalanced, but not necessarily in a bad way.  Before long they were finished with the cleanup.  Steve chucked the full bag next to the door to deal with in the morning. 

            “So, uh, goodnight,” Bucky shoved his hands in his pockets.

            “Why don’t you sleep in my bed tonight?” Steve said.

            Bucky froze, “Um, excuse me?”

            Steve instantly flushed, realizing how his words had sounded.  “I- I mean that you should sleep in my bed.  Um, by yourself, obviously,” Steve scratched at the back of his neck, unable to make eye contact.

            “Oh, right,” Bucky’s voice sounded strained.  “I’m good with the couch, though.”

            “Nope,” Steve popped the ‘p’ sound.  “I’m no doctor, but I’m pretty sure people with broken ribs should sleep in actual beds.  Nor arguments,” he pointed a finger at Bucky and raised a brow in challenge.

            “I,” he started to argue before looking at Steve and shutting his mouth with a curt nod.  “Thanks,” he offered Steve a small smile.

            “Don’t mention it,” Steve patted Bucky’s shoulder before heading to the bathroom to change and brush his teeth.  He ducked his head down, even though he knew Bucky couldn’t see him, hiding his stupid grin and the corresponding blush that Bucky’s smile had caused.


	5. Chapter 5

       

It was hard to believe that Bucky had already been living with him and Sam for nearly three weeks.  Steve had certainly never anticipated this turn of events, but he was really happy about them.  Having Bucky around was great.  He had been shy at first, but slowly-as the bruises healed on his body- he began to come out of his shell more and more.  Of course Steve would never admit how much he loved Bucky’s deadpan sarcasm, but their senses of humor were so in sync it was almost disturbing.

            The crew hadn’t pulled a job in the time since Bucky had arrived, though.  Scott and Sam had taken Bucky out one night and returned with a 200 pound sphinx statue- that had taken up residence in the living room- and a handful of inside jokes.  So Bucky had been initiated, but he had yet to join the whole crew on a full-scale operation.  Steve figured it was about time for that to change.  There was only one problem- he needed to talk to Nat.

-

            _Beans- 9:00AM_

            Steve blinked at his phone trying to comprehend the text on the screen through the fuzz of his sleep-addled brain.  It took an embarrassing amount of time for him to register the meaning.  The first step was noticing that the text was from Nat.  Beans was the name of the coffee place they had been frequenting for years.  9:00AM meant he had- a little less than an hour to get his act together.

            Groaning Steve heaved himself off the couch.  When he stood up to a cacophony of popping and protesting joints he decided he was definitely getting to old for this shit.  Also, their couch was not conducive for sleeping.  It was one of those pieces of furniture that had just kind of appeared.  Steve turned to squint at the offending piece of furniture.  He added it to the list of things they needed to replace.  Coffee was not going to be enough to fix this, but it would be a good start. 

            As if hearing his thoughts, the sound of a grizzled tomcat signaled that someone had brewed a fresh pot of coffee.  With an especially loud crack of his neck, Steve went over to investigate.  Bucky stood against the counter, holding a mug with his head tipped back and eyes closed.  Steve couldn’t help but pause.  He watched the way Bucky sighed after raising the chipped mug he held up to his lips and taking another slow sip.  The way his throat moved as he swallowed was oddly mesmerizing in the morning light that streamed through the kitchen window behind Bucky. 

            “Oh,” Bucky looked surprised when he opened his eyes, “Good morning,” he smiled, almost shyly, at Steve. 

            Steve fought the heat that was creeping over his face.  He really hoped Bucky hadn’t noticed how he’d been staring like a total creeper.  “Hey, sleep well?” Steve cleared busied himself plucking a mug from the cupboard and filling it. 

            “Yeah, thanks again,” Bucky replied.

            Steve finally turned to smile at Bucky.  The blush had receded enough for him to make eye contact.  “Don’t mention it,” he said, rubbing absently at the knot that had formed overnight in his shoulder.

            He and Bucky had come to an arrangement where they rotated sleeping arrangements.  Last night it had been Steve’s turn to take the couch and Bucky’s turn to sleep in the bed.  Bucky had protested the arrangement when Steve had first introduced it, but he had never complained after a night sleeping in the bed.

            Bucky’s eyes tracked the movement of Steve’s hand, a sparkle in his eyes.  “Did you sleep well?”

             “No, no I did not.”  He grinned at Bucky, “That couch is even shittier than the coffee maker.”

            Bucky’s smile grew until it lit up his whole face.  “You know, I honestly expected you to have, I don’t know, nicer stuff?” 

            “Penthouse in Manhattan with Central Park views?” Steve laughed.

            “Or at least a real couch and functioning coffee maker,” Bucky replied.

            “It functions,” Steve said defensively, still grinning stupidly.

            “Uh-huh,” Bucky raised his eyebrows ever-so-slightly, “You just keep telling yourself that.”

            Steve shook his head, draining the last of his coffee.  He glanced at the clock over the microwave as he rinsed his mug.  “Shit,” he muttered.  “I’ve gotta meet Nat, but I’ll be back later,” Steve called over his shoulder as he rushed to his room to make himself at least semi-presentable.

-

            “You look like shit,” Natasha said in lieu of a normal greeting. 

            Steve narrowed his eyes at her, subtly flipping her the bird as he slid into the chair across from her.

            She smirked and pushed a steaming mug in his direction, “Your disgusting man-child drink.” 

            Steve took a long sip, making obscene noises while Natasha rolled her eyes.  “Mmm, sugar,” he hummed. 

            She reached for her own cup of black coffee and took a sip, “You’re a disgrace.”

            Steve chuckled, leaning back in his seat to look around the shop.  Beans was cozy and familiar.  He had been coming to this shop religiously ever since Sam introduced him years ago.  The owner, Clint and his second-in-command, Kate, were good friends at this point.  Also, Clint had a not-so-secret crush on Nat which meant the occasional free drink.  

            “So to what do I owe the pleasure?” Steve wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

            Natasha shot him an unamused look before speaking, “I’ve got a tip.”

            Steve set down his mug and wrapped his hands around it.  “I’m listening,” he prompted.

            “One of Bobbi’s regulars brought in her niece a couple of days ago,” she began. 

            Steve only winced ever-so-slightly.  It wasn’t his fault that the high-end boutique where Natasha worked was staffed by some of the scariest women he had ever met.  Bobbi, for example, was deceptively pretty and charismatic.  But where Natasha was a con artist in her spare time, Steve was pretty sure Bobbi was a part-time ninja.  There had been party once upon a time where Nat and Bobbi had gotten drunk and started sparring with each other.  He had never been so scared in his life.

            Natasha, of course, caught the wince and smirked.  “The client is a regular, so she’s off-limits, but her _niece_ is not.”  A wicked grin flashed across Natasha’s face.  “She just moved to the city to be with her fiancé, a banker big-shot.  They live in a penthouse, obviously, and the girl just couldn’t stop bragging about all her fiancé’s _amazing_ collection of Russian art.”

            “Go on.”

            “I did some research, and she wasn’t kidding.  Natasha pulled a tablet out of her magical, bottomless purse.  She swiped at the screen before turning it towards Steve.

            Steve curiously reached for the tablet.  What appeared to be a magazine article was pulled up.  The first thing he saw was the picture of a pompous looking thirty-something trust fund kid holding a Fabergé egg and looking smugly at the camera.  He scrolled down, skimming the article and pausing occasionally to study the photos interspersed among the text.  “Damn,” Steve let out a low whistle when he finished perusing the article.

            Natasha raised an eyebrow in concurrence.  “There’s going to be an engagement party at the penthouse, next Friday evening.”

            Steve bit his lip, “That sounds like a big job, Nat.”

            Taking a calm sip of her drink, Natasha nodded.  “We’ll need the whole crew,” she paused, “And Barnes.”

            Steve coughed as his coffee slid down the wrong tube.  “Really?” he asked when he finally regained his voice.

            “You, Sam, and Scott all seem to trust him,” Natasha shrugged with a practiced casualness, “Of course, you’re all idiots, but Skye seems to like him, too.”

            Steve couldn’t help the smile that pulled at his mouth.  He tried to hide it by raising his mug again.  “OK, Nat,” he said.

            Nat made an irritated face at him, but didn’t say anymore.  She glanced at her wrist before moving to stand up.  “I have to get to work, but I’ll come by tonight to start planning.”

            “See you then,” Steve waved as Natasha strode through the tables.

            When she disappeared out into the city streets, Steve allowed a dopey grin to take over his face for a moment.

-

            When he returned to the apartment, Bucky looked up from where he was perched on the couch.  As usual, he was watching the History Channel.  Steve hadn’t understood his weird obsession with the channel at first.  But then he had experienced an _American Pickers_ marathon.  He and Bucky had been two steps away from renting a van and driving upstate to pick through people’s junk.  Sam had stepped in as the voice of reason and nixed that plan.  Secretly, Steve still planned to do it; he would just wait till Sam went home to visit his parents for a few days or something.

            Steve grinned, “You think you’re ready for a real job, jerk?”

            Bucky’s eyes widened almost comically.  He stared at Steve, completely forgetting about the TV.  “What?” he asked.

            Steve plopped onto the couch beside Bucky, still smiling like a maniac.  “We’ve got a job, my friend, and you are invited.”

            “Really?”  The mix between hopefulness and suspicion in Bucky’s eyes made Steve’s heart hurt.

            Impulsively, Steve threw an arm over Bucky’s shoulders.  He could feel the hair Bucky had pulled back into a messy bun tickling his arm, but he didn’t pull back and neither did Bucky.  “Nat has found us an opportunity to free some old Russians.”

            “Did someone say ‘Nat’ and ‘old Russians’ in the same sentence?” Sam’s head suddenly popped out of the kitchen corner.

            Steve laughed, “Sure did.”

            “Ohmygod!” Sam threw his hands against his cheeks comically before bouncing over and perching on the arm of the couch.  “Tell me more.”

            “Nat’s coming around tonight to talk, so I’ll leave it to her,” he smirked teasingly at Sam’s frustrated face.  “You know she’d kill me if I stole her story.”

            Sam frowned, sighing deeply, “Yeah, yeah.”  He moped for a moment before hopping to his feet and running towards his bedroom, socked feet slipping wildly on the wood floor.  “I’m gonna call Scott!” he yelled over his shoulder.

            Steve shook his head at his friend’s antics.  It was only when he turned towards Bucky that he realized his arm was still resting against Bucky’s back.  He clumsily withdrew it, clearing his throat.  “Well, um, I have to do a thing.  In my room,” Steve fumbled, “With things.  That are in there.  So, bye,” he waved awkwardly as he backed away from the couch and towards the sanctuary of his bedroom. 

            Bucky’s eyes followed him in confusion, but Steve just turned and slammed his door shut.  He leaned back, knocking his head lightly against the wood.  It was official.  Steve was the biggest schmuck in history.  Literally, he could not be any less smooth if he tried.  He was in trouble.


	6. Chapter 6

         

           “We could-”

            “No!” Sam, Steve, and Natasha simultaneously cut Scott off.

            “Oh c’mon!  You don’t even know what I was gonna say!” he whined.

            Natasha arched a brow at him challengingly, “Oh really?  What were you going to say then?”

             “No!  I’m not gonna tell you now.”  He crossed his arms and sank back against the couch.

            Sam snorted loudly earning him a glare from Scott.

            “So, since drugging them is off the table,” Steve shot a significant look at Scott, “We need to figure out a plan to _distract_ the guests.”

            “Smokey the Bear?  Green gills?  Ghostbusters?” Sam rattled off several suggestions. 

            “Too risky, too messy, not enough time,” Steve frowned.

            “Ghostbusters?” Bucky looked between the group with a faint smirk on his lips.

            “I’ll tell you all about it sometime,” Steve smiled.

            Sam cleared his throat, “What do you suggest then?”

            “Empty Child?” Scott said excitedly.

            “ _Absolutely not_ ,” Sam shuddered.

            "How is that even appropriate for the situation?" Skye looked like she was fighting a losing battle against a laugh.

            "How is it not?" Scott threw his hands up.

            "Literally in every single way, man," Sam said.

            “What if we use a combination Wedding Date/Other Woman?” Steve said.

            “That could work,” Sam looked to Natasha for confirmation.

            The redhead was nodding thoughtfully, staring at her tablet screen.  “Misha has a brother, Nika, older and single.”

            “Sounds like a perfect Wedding Date mark,” Sam said.

            “He owns a club in the city.”  Natasha turned her tablet around so that the others could see.

            “Well Stevie Wonder, looks like you’re up!” Scott grinned.

            “Great,” Steve muttered as he stared at the picture.

-

            And that was how Steve Rogers found himself standing beside a man who spoke with a heavy Russian accent and kept his hand on Steve’s ass.  On the outside he was smiling and laughing, lightly resting his hand against the other man’s shoulder.  But on the inside he was picturing all the ways that hand on his ass could meet an unfortunate end.  He casually glanced at the watch on the wrist of one of his date’s friends.  It was past time for Sam to make his entrance.  Steve was one hundred percent going to murder the shit out of Sam when this was done.  After that he would shun him for the rest of eternity, even in the afterlife. 

            Casting around for an escape, Steve’s eyes fell on the profile of a man who looked strangely familiar.  He watched, waiting for the man to turn around.  Finally the man did turn slightly.  Steve swallowed hard.  The man was immediately recognizable, his blinding smile, military posture, and slicked back hair.  As Steve watched the man thumped one of his conversation companions on the shoulder.  When that man turned his face, Steve’s stomach dropped even further.   

            _Shit_. 

            As Steve stood frozen, the younger man’s eyes began to drift in Steve’s direction.  Panic tore through Steve’s heart and he did the first thing he could think of.  His date grunted when Steve abruptly yanked their faces together.  It only took a minute for the tipsy Russian to adjust, tongue slipping against Steve’s lips.  Steve fought the urge to gag, and slit one of his eyes open to look at the other group.  They were no longer paying attention, politely looking away. 

            “I’ll be right back,” Steve whispered to his date.

            He wound his way through the clusters of well-dressed guests, heart pounding in his chest.  There was no way for him to slip out the front door unnoticed, so he made for the bathroom instead.  By some miracle, there wasn’t even a line and Steve slumped against the sink.  His mind raced as he tried to even out his breath.  Somehow he needed to slip out the front door and get the hell out of dodge.

            Taking a deep breath, Steve shook off the nerves and stepped out of the bathroom.  He calmly made his way back to the main room.  His date’s hand was instantly on his ass as soon as he returned to his side.  Steve didn’t care; he was too distracted with locating everyone in the room.  His eyes darted around the space twice, three times…  The younger man was gone.  Steve’s throat once again ran dry.

            He tugged at his date’s arm, “You should make a toast,” he gave his best seductive smile.

            “Ah!  Good idea, Steven.  Beauty and brains,” he grinned before turning away and motioning one of the waiters over to bring him a microphone. 

            Steve used the opportunity to slip away.  Somehow he managed to sneak out the front door and out of the building unnoticed.  His heart was pounding as he carefully looked to make sure that no one was following him when he reached the street.  The coast was clear, so Steve ran across the street and burst into the van. 

            Bucky and Skye squinted at him like a couple of mole people seeing the light of day for the first time.

            “They need to get out of there!” Steve angrily threw his suit jacket on the ground.

            “Whoa, slow down there, Stevie,” Skye’s brow wrinkled in confusion.

            “No!  Skye, _they need to get out of there_.”  He tried to convey the significance of his words through his eyes.

            Skye’s face morphed into a look of suspicion.  “Sam had to go help Nat and Scott,” she said.

 

            “Well, tell them to get the fuck out of there!  He’s here, Skye!” Steve ran his hands through his hair.  “You know what that means!”

            Skye’s eyes widened before filling with a steely determination.  She nodded, moving to the front of the van to radio through to their teammates. 

            “What’s going on, Steve?” Bucky asked.

            “Nothing,” Steve tugged roughly at his tie.  “Don’t worry about it.”

            “No.”

            Steve looked up at the change in tone of Bucky’s voice.  “What?”

            There was a fire in Bucky’s eyes, “You don’t get to do that to me.  I’m sick of people fucking _lying_ to me- treating me like some incompetent puppet!  I thought you were different.”

            A spike of something hot and unwelcome shot through Steve’s chest.  “W-what are you talking about?  Buck?”

            “Fuck you,” Bucky glared.  “I was wrong.  God, why am I always so fucking stupid?”

            Steve blinked stupidly.  One moment Bucky was there beside him in the back of the van while Skye spoke urgently in the front seat.  Then, just as quickly, sunlight was streaming into the cave-like space and Bucky was gone.  He flinched as the door slammed.

            It took him a moment too long, but Steve tumbled out of the van to run after Bucky.  He cast around, briefly disoriented by the change in lighting, before spotting Bucky’s dark hair disappearing down the street.  Without a second thought Steve took off, pushing his long legs hard.  Some vague part of him was thankful for all the time he spent running as he pushed his way past the other pedestrians. 

            “Bucky!”

            Bucky’s shoulders tensed, but he didn’t turn around, if anything he moved faster.  Steve made a frustrated noise in his throat, pushing himself even harder.  Just as he was closing in, they turned a corner and Bucky disappeared into thin air.  Despair welled in Steve’s chest as he spun around seeking out that familiar brown hair.  After bumping into a rather indignant old woman, nearly knocking a teenage couple to the concrete, and causing a little boy to drop his ice cream Steve finally gave up.

            Shoulders slumped; Steve slowly headed down the street that would lead to his apartment.  He didn’t pay any attention to his surroundings, moving on autopilot along the route he knew so well.  The sun was disappearing quickly, a sharp breeze cutting through Steve’s dress shirt.  It felt like rain, and Steve glanced up at the sky. 

            He slipped into the apartment, scrubbing his palms over his face.  Somehow this whole job had gone from good to fucking screwed.  And it was all his fault.  On top of that, he had managed to royally fuck things up with Bucky.  Steve’s stomach turned at the thought.  Who knew where Bucky was now?  The look of betrayal on Bucky’s face stabbed at Steve’s conscience every time he closed his eyes. 


	7. Chapter 7

         

           Steve nearly rolled out of his bed when he awoke abruptly to a tinny rendition of the national anthem.  Disoriented, he flailed around aimlessly before registering that the sound was actually his ringtone.  At some point during their friendship Sam had taken to periodically changing Steve’s ringtone to a variety of patriotic songs.  He thought it was hilarious, but at 3am Steve had never disagreed with him more.

            “’Lo?” Steve fumbled with the phone.

            “Steve?  It’s me, Bucky.”

            Steve was wide awake in the blink of an eye.  “Bucky?”  He was already scrambling out of bed and searching for clothes.

            For a moment there was only the sound of shaky breathing before Bucky replied quietly, “Yeah.”

            A frown tugged at Steve’s lips and he paused with one leg in his pants.  “Is everything OK?”

            Bucky chuckled breathily, “I- um- I need your help.”

            Steve felt his blood run cold at the words.  “What’s wrong?  Bucky, where are you?”

-

            Steve tried not to knock too frantically, conscious that most of the building’s residents were probably asleep at the early hour.  As he waited he wondered if this was Bucky’s apartment where he’d lived before.  He didn’t have long to dwell on that train of thought when the door cracked open.  The chain was still in place, and Steve could just see a sliver of Bucky’s face before the door was closing and reopening wider to allow Steve to enter.

            As soon as he was through the door Steve turned to Bucky, “Are you OK?”

            Bucky looked back at him with wide-eyes.  He blinked a couple of times before seeming to deflate slightly, “Um, yeah.”

            Steve’s brow furrowed, “But-,” he paused, “When you called-,” he trailed off unsure exactly what he was trying to say.

            Bucky’s eyes darted nervously to a point over Steve’s shoulder.  Suddenly Steve felt an unpleasant prickle as if someone was watching him.  Slowly he turned around, eyes settling on a middle aged man in a suit smiling amiably at him. 

            “Who is this?” he asked cautiously.

            The man rose from the couch before Bucky could speak.  “Phil Coulson, it’s nice to finally meet you Mr. Rogers,” he held out his hand.

            Steve instantly tensed at the sound of his name on this stranger’s tongue.  “Have we met?” he reached out and gave the man’s hand a single firm shake.

            Phil smiled placidly, returning to his seat and gesturing for Steve to sit.  “No, but I feel like I already know you in a way,” he chuckled in a way that might have been intended to sound self-deprecating but struck Steve as creepy.

            Still, Steve found himself sinking onto the loveseat Phil had indicated.  Bucky joined him, not meeting his eyes as he sat down. 

            Steve felt his patience crack.  “I feel like I’m missing something here.  Would anyone care to tell me what’s going on here?”  He cast a challenging look in Bucky’s direction.

            Bucky briefly met his eyes before looking down again.  “I’m sorry, Steve,” he bit his lip.

            Steve stilled taking a deep breath before turning to Phil.  “So, who are you really, Phil Coulson?”

            “I’m with SHIELD,” Phil began.

            “I’m afraid I’m not familiar,” Steve interrupted.

            “Good,” Phil smirked, “That means we’re doing our jobs.”

            Steve raised his eyebrows.

            “SHIELD is what you might call a… _specialized_ government agency,” Phil turned to Steve with another one of his smirks, “You have been on our radar for quite a while.”

            Steve crossed his arms, trying not to let his nerves show.  “So you’re here to arrest me?”

            Phil inclined his head, smiling as if they’d just shared an inside joke.  “I hope not, Mr. Rogers.  Actually, I’m hoping to recruit you.”

            Steve couldn’t help the bark of laughter that slipped through his lips.  “ _Recruit me_?”

            “That is correct.”

            Steve rose abruptly.  “Well this has really been something, but I’m going to see myself out now.”

            “Mr. Rogers,” the tone of Phil’s voice caused Steve to stop in his tracks.  “I would rather do this amicably, but I’m afraid if you won’t help us willingly I’m going to have to arrest you and your friends.”

            Steve gaped at the man, “So now you’re _threatening_ me?” 

            “Like I said, I’d prefer we do this amicably,” Phil replied.

            “Uh-huh.”  Steve suddenly felt very tired.  “So if I agree to be ‘recruited’ you’ll leave the others alone?”

            Phil gave him an appraising look.  “I believe a mutually beneficial agreement could be reached.”

            Steve stood undecided for a long moment.  Finally he sighed and returned to his seat.

            “Welcome to SHIELD, Mr. Rogers,” Phil said, victory lighting his eyes.

            SHIELD was not exactly what Steve had pictured.  To be fair, he had pictured a secret lair in a cave or something.  Honestly it was a bit disappointing when he found himself in a perfectly bland office building.  There were windows and ferns and everything. 

            He snuck a gaze in Bucky’s direction as they walked down a hall.  It was almost like looking at a different person.  Gone were the nerdy glasses and the charming shyness, replaced by a well-cut suit and self-assured gait.  Steve burned inside a little bit every time he looked.  And yet he couldn’t stop himself.

            Finally they arrived at their apparent destination.  Bucky held the door for Steve and Steve kind of wanted to stab him.  Instead he stepped inside the room.  It appeared to be some sort of reception area.  There was not a receptionist present, however.  Bucky swept into the room with that stupid swagger and gave a single sharp knock on the next door.

            Someone answered from inside and, once again, Bucky was holding the door open for Steve.  Steve took a deep breath and walked inside.  Instantly he noticed the man behind the desk.  Coulson.  Steve felt a sourness in his gut as he stepped further into the room.

            “Mr. Rogers, welcome,” Coulson gestured to one of the chairs facing his desk. 

            Steve mentally sighed as he obediently took one of the seats.  It was going to be a long day.

_

            Miraculously, there was no one around when Steve shakily unlocked the apartment door.  Steve let out a breath and blindly moved in the direction of the bathroom on wobbly legs.  He shut the door tightly behind him and turned the lock before turning on the shower.  As the water warmed, Steve slowly undressed.  By the time he was finished methodically removing his clothing and carefully folding them into the most unobtrusive stack he could manage, steam was beginning to swirl through the room. 

            Steve let his eyes close and inhaled deeply.  The air moved smoothly through his lungs and back out again despite the fact that he half expected it to catch.  His eyes fluttered open and caught on his reflection in the slightly foggy mirror.  Even though the mirror showed a healthy, powerful body Steve felt small inside.  For a long moment Steve allowed himself to simply stare at the defined lines of his muscles, the broad line of his shoulders, and the healthy glow of his complexion before he turned abruptly and shut himself in the shower.

            It had been a long time since he had felt this helpless.  He had spent years carefully crafting an existence that he could control.  But now…  Now there were too many players and Steve didn’t have a good hand.  It made him scrub at his hair a little hard.  His jaw muscles clenched and unclenched as he fought to control his emotions.  He would be fine.  After all he had enough practice that he knew how to sell a bluff.  But that didn’t stop the anxiety that crawled through his insides like a spider spinning a web. 


	8. Chapter 8

           “Well look who’s actually home!”

            Steve looked up from the screen he had been studying intently to see Sam standing in the doorway.

            “Remember the time one of those things exploded all over your face?  Scott legitimately thought you were a vampire.”

            Steve slowly pulled the pen he had been chewing on from his mouth.  Sam grinned and flopped down on the couch, jostling Steve to make room for himself.  “Whatcha looking at?” Sam asked just as Steve snapped his laptop shut.

            Sam raised his eyebrows, which Steve ignored.  “Where are you coming from, and why do you smell like a department store?”

            “I smell good!”

            Steve shrugged, “Meh.”

            Sam shoved his shoulder lightly.  “Fuck you, man.”

            “That doesn’t answer my question,” Steve couldn’t keep the mirth out of his voice.

            Sam rolled his eyes.  “I had a thing.  What’s your excuse?”

            “Oh, is that right?  A thing?  Wow, look at you, Mr. ‘I Had a Thing,” Steve ignored Sam’s question and carefully tucked his laptop out of sight.

            “You’re such a little shit, you know that?”

            Steve laughed.  “Takes one to know one.”

            Sam shook his head, “You are literally a child.”

            “You know you never asked, but I am in fact only eight years old.”  Steve gestured to himself.  “It’s all the hormones in food these days.  Kids are growing too fast.”

            Sam hit Steve with the pillow that had remained on their couch since Bucky had left.  “I’m going to bed.”

            “Your thing wore you out, huh?” Steve snickered.

            Sam waved a hand over his shoulder as he disappeared down the hall.

            Once he heard the click of Sam’s door shutting, Steve fell back against the couch.  He hated this.  It felt like he was always working these days, like he always had to be _on_.  It was eating away at him.  Steve knew it was only a matter of time before his friends started to catch on.  Thankfully, he had a plan for that.  Steve Rogers always had a plan.       

_

            It took him longer than it should have to knock on the door.  He was nervous.  His palms were sweaty, and he felt like he was going to vomit. 

            “Hey.”  The door abruptly swung open. 

            Steve cleared his throat awkwardly as he stepped into the apartment and closed the door behind him.  Bucky stood in front of him, barefoot and wearing a Rick and Morty T-shirt with worn sweatpants.  His hair was especially unruly today, escaping from its messy bun to fall in front of the lenses of his glasses.

            Steve’s heart found its way into his throat, and he hated himself a little bit.  “Hi,” he said quietly, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

            Something flashed across Bucky’s face, but it was gone before Steve could identify it.  “You wanna sit?” he gestured to the sofa.

            Steve nodded and walked the short distance to the couch.  Bucky sat down beside him and picked up his laptop.  He hated how acutely aware of Bucky’s body he was and the way the proximity made his chest buzz.

            There was no way of knowing how long Bucky’d been talking, or what he’d been talking about, for that matter.  Steve only realized he’d spaced out when he felt a warm hand curl around his shoulder.  He startled slightly and turned to find Bucky’s face watching him in concern.

            “You okay?” Bucky asked.

            Steve stared at him, and Bucky awkwardly withdrew his hand.

            “Do you really need the glasses?”

            Bucky looked slightly taken aback.  “I,” he hesitated, “Yes, I do.”

            Steve found himself watching as Bucky reached up to push the frames up his nose.  Bucky looked up and their gazes locked for a long, tense moment.

            “Steve, I’m sorry.  I really am, but I didn’t lie to you about anything I didn’t have to.”

            Steve wanted to scoff, but somehow he ended up just swallowing hard.  “I bet you say that to all your marks.”

            “Steve, please-”

            “You know I thought for a little while there that you liked me,” Steve interrupted.  A rough laugh forced its way up his throat. 

            There was only silence in response, though Steve could feel Bucky’s eyes like twin spots of uncomfortable heat burning into him.  He could feel the moment when Bucky decided to speak, heard the tiny inhale, and suddenly couldn’t stand to hear what Bucky would say.

            Steve swallowed hard, and turned his attention to the files on the floor.  He picked up some building permits at random.  “Tell me about this stuff.”

            Bucky released a shaky breath and began to explain the documents to Steve, slowly regaining his confidence as the moment faded away.  He shuffled the papers, and Steve’s heart froze in his throat.

            “What’s that?” he pointed at the logo that had caught his eye.

            “Oh,” Bucky pulled the paper free.  “This is the job.”  He eyed Steve suspiciously.  “Weren’t you listening to Coulson?”

            Steve could hear blood rushing in his ears as he stared at the familiar Stark Industries logo embossed on simple invitation.  “Of course,” he murmured.   

            Bucky continued to eye him suspiciously.  “That’s why you’re so important to this, Steve.  No one can break into Stark Industries.  Well, no one but your team.”

            Steve forced himself to look at Bucky.  “Really?  Your clandestine agency of super spies can’t handle a simple break-in?  You honestly expect me to believe that?”

            Bucky seemed to weigh his words before speaking.  “You have unique skillsets.”

            Steve felt his eyebrows raise.  “Is that so?”  He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest.  “I call bullshit.”

            Frustration bled into Bucky’s features.  He rolled his eyes.  “You know what?  I’m in charge here, and I’ve had enough of your questions.”  Bucky quickly shuffled the papers.

            A swift and quiet heat shot up Steve’s spine.  He swallowed hard as he watched Bucky’s hands move.  Biting his lip, Steve forced himself to look away.  “Maybe I should just go.”

            Bucky stopped what he was doing and met Steve’s eyes briefly before looking away again.  “Fine.”

            Steve hesitated, words on the tip of his tongue.  Bucky glared up at him again and the words melted away.  He stood up and made his way to the door.  His hand wrapped around the knob, he looked back one more time to see Bucky running a hand through his unruly hair.  Quickly, Steve left the apartment, a sharp feeling in his chest as he made his way back down to the streets of New York.

            He didn’t even realize where he was going until his feet stopped in front of the familiar store front.  It was late, so he pushed the buzzer beside the door.  A few minutes passed before a buzz indicated the alarms were momentarily disarmed.  Steve fished the key out of his pocket and let himself in.

            “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Skye opened the door to her studio apartment.

            Steve sighed heavily as he entered.  Stalling for time he toed off his boots and removed his jacket.

            “Earth to Steve!”

            “A guy can’t stop to visit his little sister just because he loves her?”

            Skye’s withering stare drew a chuckle from Steve.  What would he do without her?  She was his best friend, and the one person who could _always_ call his bluff.  There was no one he loved more.

            “Alright, alright,” Steve sighed again.  “I’ve just been… thinking,” he hedged.

            “And?” Skye prompted.

            Steve turned to smile fondly at his sister.  “Can we just sit?  Watch a movie or something?”

            Skye scrutinized him for a long moment before nodding.  “Come on, you big lug.”

            Steve lay on the bed while Skye went to get popcorn and hot chocolate, their traditional snack.  He let himself sink into the softness, willing some of the tension out of his body.  When Skye came back she placed a large bowl of popcorn on his chest before grabbing some blankets and joining him. 

            He couldn’t have said what movie they watched; it didn’t matter.  It reminded him of when they were kids and their problems were so much smaller.  Every time one of them had a particularly rough day at school they would build a fort out of blankets and pillows.  They’d make hot chocolate and popcorn and snuggle up with their snacks to watch some cartoons.  The silent solidarity had gotten him through a lot of difficult days.  And now, when his life was starting to feel out of control, there was nothing he wanted more than those days when a jock tripped him in the lunchroom or someone stole his clothes after PE.  But if he couldn’t have that, at least he had Skye.  Some things never changed. 


	9. Chapter 9

           “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

            Steve met Sam’s eyes with a steady gaze.  “Nope.”

            Sam guffawed, glancing at the other members of the group for their reactions.  Skye was remaining remarkably composed, though Steve could practically hear the gears turning in her brain.  Scott looked positively gleeful, which really wasn’t surprising.  And Nat, Nat was unreadable as always.

            “Where did this lead come from?” she asked.

            “It came through The Shop,” Steve glanced at Skye.

            Natasha cast a considering look at them.  “And how do you propose we accomplish this with a crew of five?”

            “Well,” Steve rubbed the back of his neck nervously.  “We might need a couple extra pairs of hands.”

            Natasha raised an impeccable eyebrow.  “Did you have any particular hands in mind?”

            Steve felt himself blushing, “Maybe.”

            Sam gasped, “Lover boy?  Oh shit!  I thought you guys were through!  Have you been seeing him on the side this whole time?  You sly dog!”

            Steve gave Sam a look, which caused Sam to sit back in his seat and clear his throat.

            “And?” Natasha ignored Sam’s outburst.

            Steve sighed, “And we’ll need a sharpshooter.”

            Natasha remained silent for a long moment.  “I may know a guy.”

            “Wait, wait,” Sam waved his hands in the air, “Hold up for just one second.  Are you all seriously considering this?  You must be out of your damn minds!  We can’t rob Tony fucking Stark!  That’s insane!”

            “I’m one hundred percent in,” Scott said.

            “It could work,” Natasha tilted her head thoughtfully, doubtlessly playing out the potential scenarios in her mind.

            “Or it could _not_ work!  It could _seriously_ not work!” Sam tried again.

            “I think we should do it,” Skye said.

            Everyone shut up and turned to look at Skye.  She simply returned their surprised expressions with an even look.  Steve felt the corner of his lip twitch up briefly.  When had scrappy little Skye grown up so much?

            “Well, I’d say that settles it,” Scott said.

            “Fine,” Sam sighed, “I can see when I’m out-voted, but for the record I am against this.”

            “Noted,” Steve said.  “Let’s get to work.” 

            They spent the next few hours arguing over the logistics.  Steve looked around at his friends, a grin slowly spreading over his face.  Somehow, he had begun missing this without even realizing.  This was what he loved most.  Sure, the thrill of adrenaline was a close second, but Steve loved the planning.  He loved bringing the crew together and arguing until they came up with a solid strategy.  Watching it all come together made him feel strong, invincible, knowing these people had his back.

            “I’ll make a call,” Natasha said.

            “Just out of curiosity, this sharpshooter isn’t a coworker of yours is it?” Scott asked nervously.

            Natasha raised an eyebrow before rising from the couch and heading to the door.  “Tomorrow,” she said before exiting.

            “Oh God.”

            Skye started laughing.

            “Those women are scary!” Scott said.

            “Sure they are,” Skye reached over to pat him on the shoulder.  “What do you say I walk you home?  You know, to protect you from all the scary women.”

            Scott glared without any heat, muttering under his breath as he followed Skye to the door.

            “See you tomorrow, brother,” Skye gave Steve a quick squeeze.

            “See you,” Steve waved after his friend and sister as they headed out.

            When the door was shut, he turned to find Sam watching him with his arms crossed over his chest. 

            A pang of guilt prodded Steve’s stomach, but he ignored it.  “What?”

            “Maybe it’s for the best.”

            “What?” Confusion leeched into Steve’s voice.

            Sam held his eyes with a hard stare, and Steve felt like all his secrets were being laid bare.  Finally Sam sighed, and dropped his arms.  “This thing is big, man.  Bigger than anything we’ve ever done,” he frowned.  “One way or another this is gonna be the score to end all scores.”

            Steve swallowed.  An unfamiliar feeling washed over him as he watched Sam shake his head and disappear to his room.  His friend’s words twisted around and around in his head.  He hadn’t been planning on going out, but his head was buzzing in a way that only serious distraction could overcome.

            So Steve grabbed his keys and headed out into the night.    

-

            No surprise that he ended up at Bucky’s door.

            “Steve?” Bucky squinted. 

            Steve couldn’t think of a response.  Bucky was standing before him in a worn t-shirt and pajama pants, his glasses perched on his nose and his hair falling loosely around his face.  Something snapped, and Steve pushed his way into the apartment.  Bucky allowed him, watching with a mixture of concern and confusion as Steve started pacing.

            Distantly he heard the snick of the door closing, but Steve continued to pace. 

            “Steve?”

            He could hear Bucky, but he couldn’t force himself to stop and face the other man.

            “ _Steve_.”

            Suddenly Bucky was right there.  His hands on Steve’s shoulder, his face filling Steve’s vision. 

            Steve froze, staring into those eyes.  Bucky blinked, and Steve swallowed hard.

            “What’s wrong?” Bucky began to pull back.

            Steve didn’t think.  He didn’t want Bucky to pull away.  That was why he grabbed a handful of the soft cotton of Bucky’s shirt and pushed him backwards with purpose.  A small huff of surprise left Bucky’s mouth when he hit the wall.  They stared at each other, and then there was no space anymore.

            It wasn’t a gentle first kiss.  Their lips met hard and fast.  They paused for the length of a breath, looking at each other silently before diving back in.  Steve hadn’t expected this level of intensity from Bucky.  He felt his own desperation mirrored in Bucky’s lips, his teeth and tongue.

            Bucky moaned low in his throat when Steve grabbed his hips, pulling them impossibly closer.  The sound shot straight through Steve.  It was a kind of electricity he had never felt before.  One of his hands found its way to Bucky’s hair, winding in the soft tendrils as he sucked on his tongue.

            Bucky broke the kiss with a harsh gasp.  His pupils shone like pools of midnight, and Steve wanted to drown.  Wordlessly, Bucky pushed away from Steve and started moving backwards through the apartment.  Steve followed him, never breaking eye contact.  There was something unspeakably alluring in the way Bucky moved so surely without as much as a glance at his surroundings.  When his back hit a door he twisted the knob and disappeared inside with one last heated look in Steve’s direction.

            This was a mistake, and the small part of Steve’s brain that wasn’t drunk on the encounter whispered that urgently.  Steve didn’t listen, or maybe he just didn’t care.  He wanted this, wanted Bucky, and he didn’t want to think about it.  Licking his lips, Steve strode into the room, and slammed the door shut behind him.

            Bucky was right there, wrapping himself around Steve once more.  This time Steve was the one to groan.  He could feel Bucky against him, his heat, his heartbeat, every little hitch in his breath.  It was the most intoxicating sensation of Steve’s life.  He chased it with his mouth and hands.             

            Clumsily, they stumbled back to the bed.  As soon as they hit the soft mattress Bucky yanked his shirt off before reaching roughly for Steve’s.  And then there was skin against skin.   Steve ran his hands along Bucky’s sides, kissing his way down his torso while Bucky writhed beneath him.  His fingertips paused under the waistband of Bucky’s pants.  Bucky opened his eyes, blinking blearily at Steve.

            “I’m gonna ruin you,” Steve growled.

            Bucky moaned out loud and yanked Steve’s hips down.

-

            “Everything’s set?” Skye asked as soon as Steve was within earshot.

            “Hello to you, too,” Steve grumbled.

            “Sorry,” Skye’s tone contradicted her words.  “You look like hell,” she added.

            Steve was already well aware of this fact.  He scrubbed his hand over the stubble on his cheeks and grunted in response.  Ignoring Skye, he let himself behind the counter.

            “Anyone here?” he asked.

            Skye rolled her eyes.  “No.”

            Steve’s eyes still darted around the space.  “Can you close early?”

            “It’s my store, Steve.  I can do whatever I damn well please.”

            Steve raised an eyebrow at her.

            She rolled her eyes again, “Oh please,” she huffed.  “Have you seen yourself today?  You have no business bringing out the judgmental eyebrows.”

            Steve’s gut twisted with a strange mixture of guilt and heat.  “How’s everything going?” he asked.

            “Mmm,” Skye hummed as she jangled her keys and stood up to lock the front door.  She flipped the closed sign before brushing past Steve to get to her computer.  After noisily rustling through her drawers she turned and handed a card to Steve.

            “Nice,” Steve said turning the invitation over in his hands.

            “Of course it’s nice, dumbass.  It’s a Tony Stark party.”

            Steve glared over the card.  “Tony Stark parties are not always _nice_.”

            Skye shrugged and spun around in her chair.  “Well this one will be.  It’s an official Stark Industries shindig, so it’s gonna be _noice_!”

            “How many of these do we have?”

            “Just the two authentic ones,” Skye replied.  “The Stark Expo party is technically open to the public.  It’s just the VIPs who get invites to the real event.  Obviously we can’t all go in as VIPs, Stark may not know better, but Potts would.” 

            Steve nodded.  “So just us then?”

            “And plus ones, if we so desire,” Skye said with a wink.

            “Right, so I’ll bring Nat and you bring Nat’s guy?”

            “That’s the plan,” Skye confirmed.  “By the way, when are we meeting this mysterious _guy_ anyway?”

            Steve shrugged.  “You know, Nat.  We’ll meet him when we meet him.”

            Skye groaned.  “I need to vet this guy, Stevie!”

            Steve set the invitation down and patted Skye on the shoulder.  “Relax.  It’s Nat, not Scott.”

            Skye shuddered, “Oh God.”

            Steve couldn’t help the bark of laughter.  Skye swatted at him, unsuccessfully fighting back her own giggles. 

            “Do you even remember that guy? He was so creepy!  And that accent!”

            Steve laughed even harder, “I bet he lived in his mom’s basement.  It was like he had a curfew or something.”

            “God, yeah.  Always looking at his stupid watch.  And you left me alone with him in the van!” she said accusingly.

            “And that is why Scott no longer gets to bring his other friends.”

            Steve’s phone chirped in his pocket.  He grabbed it and looked at the screen.  “Hey speak of the devil…”

            Skye blanched, “What?”

            Steve glanced up at her tone.  “Relax, it’s Nat.  She wants us all to meet her at Beans tomorrow.”

            “Finally,” Skye exhaled.

            Steve reached over and ruffled her hair.

            “Alright, well lunch break’s over,” Skye stood up and began herding Steve to the door.  “I’ll see you later!”

            “Bye little sis!”

            Steve glanced down at his phone again before deciding to head for his apartment.  He could use a shower and a shave.  Also a nap.  A nap would be great.

-

            “Interesting company you’ve been keeping, Steven.”

            Steve’s heart lurched at the unexpected voice inside his apartment.  He froze in the doorway, turning to stare at the figure occupying the serial killer seat.  It only took a moment for anger to rush in and he was striding across the room.

            “What are you doing here?” he hissed.

            “Oh, relax, son.  Your roommate is out for a while and nobody saw me.”

            “You can’t just barge in here!”

            The man levelled Steve with an unimpressed look.  “Have a seat, Steven.  We have some things to discuss.”

            “Couldn’t you just call me?” Steve snapped even as he lowered himself onto the couch.

            The man smiled faintly.  “We’re overdue for a face-to-face.  Maybe if you came by more often-”

            “What do you want?” Steve huffed.

            The man leaned back in his seat.  “I _want_ to talk about your new little friend.  The SHIELD agent.”

            Steve’s heart dropped again.  “I was going to tell you,” he started, “We have a plan.  It’s under control.”

            “Yes, so I hear.  The Stark Expo gala is a big target for you, quite ostentatious.”

            Steve crossed his arms.  “You’re always telling us to go bigger.  What can I say?  You’ve inspired me.”

            The man chuckled, “I’m not mad, son.  Quite the opposite, in fact.”

            Steve’s head whipped up at the unexpected words.  He eyed the other man questioningly.

            “Do you know why they came after you, Steven?”

            Steve didn’t reply.

            The look in the man’s eyes was all too knowing.  “They didn’t just randomly stumble upon you, you know.  No, they’ve been planning this for some time.”  The man’s eyes grew distant.  “I’m afraid this is my fault.”

            “Your fault?” Steve echoed weakly.

            “Yes,” the man nodded. “A couple of our more recent jobs drew the interest of SHIELD.  Phil Coulson’s always been like a dog with a bone,” he shook his head.  “They came after you to get to me.”

            The words sank into Steve’s stomach.  He realized that part of him had suspected this all along.  Still, having his beliefs confirmed didn’t feel at all vindicating.  It just made him feel sick. 

            “I’m sure you and Skye will take the appropriate actions?”

            Steve swallowed hard before forcing himself to nod.  “Of course,” he said hoarsely. 

            “Good.”  The man rose from his chair.  He reached over to pat Steve’s shoulder.  “SHIELD messed with the wrong family.”

            “Yeah,” Steve whispered.


End file.
